


Van Horn (Fight or Flight)

by hopespym



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt No Comfort, Kinda, M/M, it's not that bad (but it kind of is), they both have issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopespym/pseuds/hopespym
Summary: Bucky was still never sure if it was love, hate, or some strange, fucked up mix of both.And Bucky would continue to lie there, blanket half strewn over his lower body as he would always, always, stare up at the ceiling and wonder when Clint would just stay.(At the very back of his mind, he wondered more when he’d finally just lock the door.)(When he’d just stop waiting.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Van Horn (Fight or Flight)

**Author's Note:**

> warning now that this is not a happy ending. different from what I normally post, but I hope u like it anyway! fluff will resume shortly. 
> 
> big big thanku to 

It wasn’t unusual for Clint to turn up at Bucky’s house out of the blue. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to turn up, drunk off his ass, clothes strewn like he’d picked fights along the way, or fallen over or into something, or- hell. Sometimes it was both.

He’d show up with rips in his jeans, cuts on his knees and arms, one shoe missing, another cut on his hand from something he merely laughed about and tried to taunt Bucky with. ( _ “What? You gonna do worse?” _ )

Hair strewn, he’d collapse onto the shitty seat that Bucky knew he loved so much, even if it was merely coincide that he ended up there every single time, ( _ “I don’t get attached.” _ )

Eyes full with emotion, even after all this time, Bucky still wasn’t sure whether it was love or hate or some misconstrued  _ idea _ of what love was - and Clint never tried to give an answer when Bucky sat and patiently sat and cleaned the blood without comment before he allowed Clint to grab ahold of his chin and drag him in for what was almost always the most passionate and lust driven kisses Bucky’d received in his whole life.

They never talked about it the next day.

Or more likely, they never talked about it an hour later when Clint was dragging himself off of the couch, or out of the bed, fumbling back into his clothes and stumbling out of Bucky’s house without so much as a goodbye, but seeming more sober than when he first appeared.

And Bucky was still never sure if it was love, hate, or some strange, fucked up mix of both.

And Bucky would continue to lie there, blanket half strewn over his lower body as he would always,  _ always _ , stare up at the ceiling and wonder when Clint would just  _ stay. _

(At the very back of his mind, he wondered more when he’d finally just lock the door.)

(When he’d just stop waiting.)

The next time he showed up there were no cuts or bruises, and he wasn’t quite as drunk as he had known to be previously.

Bucky merely moved aside and allowed him in without comment, berating himself for how easily he gave into the other man. For how easily he always gave in.

With a sigh he shut the door, leaning his head against it momentarily before he walked into the lounge and shut the curtains, catching the eye of his next door neighbour. Using more force than necessary he ripped the curtain shut, trying to keep his breathing calm as he winced. 

In their small town, there was already too much gossip surrounding their relationship, and Bucky knew that each and every time Clint showed up (and Bucky let him in), it only fueled it. It didn’t help how venomously Clint seemed to speak about him when he was asked about Bucky.

(Or how it hurt more when he wasn’t acknowledged at all.)

Turning back to face Clint, Bucky wasn’t really sure what the fuck he was supposed to do. 

All the other times felt like landmines, waiting for Clint to lash out - to yell, to scream, to hit, to fight, to do whatever the fuck he did, to just wait for him to calm down again so Bucky could continue finishing cleaning cuts, or cleaning furniture, or- or whatever.

This was a landmine because Bucky had no fucking idea what Clint was doing. (Or why he hadn’t kicked him out yet.)

After standing in silence for a few terse moments Clint let out a harsh laugh, “What the fuck are we  _ doing _ , Buck?”

Now looking away, Bucky huffed out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“ _ We _ ? Clint, you-you come here drunk out of your fucking mind, there’s-,” cutting himself off with a groan when he realised it was all futil. 

Clint may have been mostly sober, but it sure as shit didn’t mean he was any less stubborn.

Or that they saw eye to eye. On anything. 

(Maybe that was part of the appeal though.)

“Yeah, turned out just like Dad there, huh?”

Bucky couldn’t help the upturn of his mouth and how his voice immediately grew colder, “Just what you always wanted to be.”

The fake mirth that had formed Clint’s smile was suddenly bitter and he scowled at Bucky, muttering a _ ‘what would you know _ ’ under his breath before he collapsed onto the couch with much more dramatics than Bucky had expected.

“I don’t even know why I come here. I always tell myself I won’t - like a fucking  _ mantra  _ or some shit like that, but I  _ always _ end up back here,” too knowing eyes found Bucky’s as he found himself standing there stunned, “Why the fuck do I come here?”

Desperate to try to make sense of whatever was happening here, but without thinking, Bucky made the mistake of opening his big fat mouth,

“Listen, I don’t know if what you’re feeling is nausea, or-or fuck,  _ love _ , or what, but you need to g-“

“ _ Love? _ ,” Bucky almost flinched with how harshly the word was spat - but he knew that his own feelings had come through in those words, and that Clint would easily be able to tell what he meant, “This isn’t love, Bucky. I thought you of all people could have seen that. I mean, how can you be so fucking clueless to think you can sit there and tell me that and expect me to  _ believe _ you. Like I’m some type of id-“

“Because I do!”

He was right in Clint’s face now.

“I… I don’t want to! I never fucking asked for this, but I fucking love you! I wish I didn’t, I hate myself because I do.”

Clint was staring at him in shock, but he didn’t say anything. The two of them were breathing hard and  _ fuck, _ fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did Bucky have to go open his big fucking mouth like a complete fucking  _ moron _ !

He didn’t want to love Clint. He really didn’t.

Clint wasn’t good for him, and he wasn’t entirely convinced he was good for Clint.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is? To love you? When you go around saying you hate me and that you can’t stand me, that you’d never do shit or even  _ tolerate  _ me when you’re sober. You’re a fucking  _ liar _ and you’re a goddamn piece of  _ shit _ , Barton!”

Now that he had started, Bucky found it nearly impossible to stop all of his feelings from spilling out.

Clenching his jaw, Clint’s eyes seemed to lose some life in them, if that was even possible, and he closed the gap between the two of them, leaning down to kiss Bucky, with lips that almost seemed to burn.

Feeling himself sink into the familiarness, Bucky couldn’t help but remember what he had just said, what was finally happening, and he shoved Clint away from him, and before he could even think, swiftly slapped him. The sound a bit too satisfying.

Obviously not expecting the sudden blow, Clint stumbled back into the chair behind him. His hand came up to hold his cheek as Bucky stood, chest minutely puffed as he heaved in breaths, in slight awe of what he had just done before he felt regret come crashing down on him.

Hands reaching up to grip his hair, he couldn’t help the  _ ‘Fuck!’  _ that escaped before he perched down on the seat opposite Clint, purposely not looking at the other man.

Clint didn’t bother saying anything to fill the silence, and Bucky tried to collect his thoughts for those few peaceful moments.

“What the fuck did you even come here for, Clint?”

The silence came back, but this time Bucky was more than willing to wait to hear what the other man had to say.

After a good couple of minutes he spoke up, words softer than he had probably intended, “Your house is for sale.”

Bucky was stunned. 

“You’re here, throwing a fit, because I’m selling my house and finally taking the advice you’ve yelled at me for years and getting out of this town? To stop holding onto a teenage dream?”

Clint didn’t even react as Bucky spat the words back in his face, and Bucky honestly didnt’ know why it’d taken him so long to break when it felt so fucking good to get this shit off of his chest.

The shrill sound of Bucky's landline ringing broke them both out of the standoff they seemed to have reached and it wasn’t until Bucky really thought what the sound meant that he realised that he must have been shouting loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

Cursing, he made his way over to the phone, and picked it up after only a moments hesitation, making eye contact with Clint as he did.

“Hello?”

_ “Mr. Barnes. We’ve had calls of a noise complaint - is everything okay?” _

Stopping himself from letting out a sigh, he instead leaned to rest his head on the wall in front of him, the ‘thunk’ when his head connected to the wall could probably be heard on the other side of the phone.

“Yes, officer. Everything’s fine here.”

There was no response on the other end before there was a slightly more hushed, “Buck, are you sure?”

Gritting his teeth, he merely replied with a terse, “Yes, Stevie. Everything’s okay” before he slammed the phone down onto the receiver - looking up and seeing Clint already halfway out the door.

Bucky suddenly had to fight the instinct to call out to him - to beg him to stay, to forget this night ever happened, that they had ever met previously, perhaps to even suggest that they could run away together, live happy, live like how deep, deep down Bucky wished they could.

Clint’s steps slowed as he passed through the door, a hand lingering on the frame, almost like he was thinking the exact same thing.

But that was only a moment.

And as Bucky watched Clint walk away, he was suddenly struck by the fact that he knew that would be the last time that Clint showed.

The other man never looked back.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought!
> 
> twitter: [betsybraddocks](https://twitter.com/betsybraddocks)  
> tumblr: [thescarletwitch](https://thescarletwitch.tumblr.com/)


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